


196 Degrees

by nowhiteflaguponmydoor



Series: The Soft!Trap AU [2]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Drinking, Feelings Realization, Friendship, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Roommates, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-07 01:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18228191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowhiteflaguponmydoor/pseuds/nowhiteflaguponmydoor
Summary: "Conservation of body heat. 98 degrees plus 98 degrees is 196 degrees."-Trapper John McIntyre, 3x15, "Bombed".





	196 Degrees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [docmccoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/docmccoy/gifts).



> For Cal, whose comments water my crops.  
> Title comes from Trapper's quote to Margaret in "Bombed".

Trapper John McIntyre is drunk.

Hawkeye had surprised him with martinis when he’d arrived home from his shift at the hospital, and they’d been matching each other martini for martini ever since. They’ve spent the evening drinking, sitting on the floor around the coffee table and playing War with a deck of cards Hawkeye had found in the junk drawer. It’s actually been a nice evening, and John is grateful for it. These last few weeks have been difficult, with Carlye having broken up with Hawkeye and skipping town, the weather quickly getting more and more dismal with each passing day, and long hospital shifts that have left him feeling exhausted and wrung out.

He’s still worried about Hawkeye, who has understandably taken the recent events quite hard, and the drinking doesn’t help, but tonight’s the first night since before Carlye left that he’s laughed, an actual Hawkeye laugh.

John would be lying if he said he hadn’t missed the sound of the infamous hyena laugh.

They laugh and carry on, and they don’t immediately notice it getting colder and colder in the apartment, until Hawkeye, who is clad in sweatpants, a t-shirt, slippers, and his signature red robe, gives a full body shiver.

“Trap, did...didja open a window?”

“Huh?” John looks up in confusion. “‘Course I didn’t. It’s negative freezing outside.”

“Why’s it so cold?”

Now that Hawkeye mentions it, it does seem like the temperature in the apartment has dropped.

Trapper stumbles trying to get up; the room isn’t quite spinning but isn’t completely still either, but he finally drags himself over to the thermostat, and sure enough, the temperature in the apartment has dropped significantly; the heat is on, but doesn’t seem to be working.

“Aw, hell, Hawk. The heat’s gone out.”

“Hell hath no fury like a heatless man scorn!” Hawkeye yells, and John rolls his eyes.

“You can do better than that,” he quips.

Hawkeye has stretched out on his back, balancing his martini on his chest. “Not in this condition, I can’t.”

Trapper goes back to the coffee table and grabs his phone, and calls the emergency line, which, of course, goes to voicemail. He leaves a voicemail saying their heat is out but doesn’t have faith in anything being done about it until tomorrow morning. At least they still have power.

“C’mon, Hawk, we better go to bed ‘fore it gets too cold to sleep.”

They finish their martinis and bid one another good night. John falls into his bed, glad that he has a decent space heater, when he realizes belatedly that Hawk had loaned his to Margaret.

 _Aw, shit,_ he thinks, feeling like a total tool. He gets up and fumbles for his robe, and gets up and crosses the hall to Hawkeye’s room.

“Hey, Hawk?” he calls, knocking on the door before opening it. Hawkeye has made himself into a blanket burrito, still in his red robe. “Trap?” he asks, voice thick from all the gin.

“‘S cold. Come bunk with me, I got the space heater.”

“But I’m already in my bed,” Hawkeye whines.

“Yeah, and you’ll be frozen in your bed if you stay in here.”

Hawkeye groans, and Trapper walks forward, nudging at the lump of blankets that is Hawkeye with his knee. “Hawk, c’mon. 196 degrees is warmer than 98.”

There’s a shuffling of blankets, and Hawkeye emerges, bringing his pillow with him and trudging past John across the hall and into his bedroom.

They settle into John’s bed, Hawkeye crowding up behind him and causing a yelp from John when he presses his feet against John’s leg where his pajama bottoms have ridden up (“Jesus Christ, Hawk, your feet are like are ice!”). He turns over and throws an arm across Hawkeye’s waist, pulling him closer than he was, and reaching over to tuck the blankets in around him.  

“Mmm, Trap, you take such good care of me,” Hawkeye says quietly, almost like he didn’t mean for John to hear it.

John laughs. “Yeah, well, somebody has to.”

“Night, Trap,” Hawkeye says, closing his eyes.

“Night, Hawk,” John replies.

Despite all of the alcohol he’s had, he can’t bring himself to fall asleep quite yet. Something is bothering him, and he can’t put a finger on what it is, but it seems just out of reach, and maybe if he concentrates enough, he can figure it out.

He lies there for a long time, staring at Hawkeye, now fast asleep. He looks so peaceful, and...that’s it!

That first night that Carlye dumped him, Hawkeye and John had spent the night in Hawkeye’s bed, John holding onto his best friend as he was drunk and heartbroken. There have been a few nights since then when Hawkeye has crept into John’s room and murmured “please, Trap, I don’t wanna be alone,” and John has pulled back the blankets and patted the space beside him each time. And each time that Hawkeye has crawled in bed with him, it’s given him a funny feeling in his chest; has made him blush like he did the night Hawkeye kissed his neck when John was holding him, that first night that Hawkeye was drunk and grieving Carlye.

He hasn’t thought much of it; Hawk is his best friend in the entire world, and he’d do anything for him. He just wants him to be happy, and it’s really bothered him that Hawk has been so down recently, a shadow of his usual self. Hawk is the best person he knows, he’s such a good doctor, so caring, so _handsome,_ and John loves him and wants him to be happy, and…

Oh.

Suddenly, the room is spinning, and John thinks it has nothing to do with the alcohol anymore.

He...does he _love_ Hawkeye?

(Of course he does, Hawkeye is his best friend, and honestly, who wouldn’t love Hawkeye Pierce?)

He turns over, closing his eyes. Unbidden, a million little moments from his friendship with Hawkeye seem to flash before him. The first time he and Hawkeye met and Hawk had flirted with him; him brushing it off when he saw that Hawkeye Pierce flirts with _everyone._ Bonding over crappy shifts while drinking crappy hospital coffee. Apartment hunting, moving in together. Holding Hawkeye in his arms. Hawk’s laugh, his smile, his slim body, his blue eyes.

_Oh, oh god, oh SHIT._

Trapper John McIntyre is in love with his best friend.

He feels vaguely nauseous at the idea, because there’s no way in hell Hawk loves him back; no way this can end well. He doesn’t exactly wear his feelings on his sleeve, but he also cannot hide things from Hawkeye.

John whimpers. Behind him, Hawkeye shifts and a hand rests on his back.

“‘S’okay, Trap,” Hawkeye mumbles, still apparently mostly asleep.

It really, really isn’t.

  



End file.
